Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The city slept, but we were awake, bathed in the honeyed glow of a single lamp that fought back the oppressive night. His fingers traced the line of my collarbone with a reverence that made my breath catch, a silent conversation written upon my skin. Outside, the world was a still, shimmering furnace, yet the only heat I felt was the slow burn of his gaze holding mine. A bead of sweat traced a languid path down his temple, and I watched its journey, mesmerized by the raw vulnerability of the moment. He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, and the air between us thickened with unspoken words and shared humidity. I could feel the frantic rhythm of his heart echoing my own, a wild, syncopated drum against the quiet hum of the fan. His scent, a mix of warm salt and clean cotton, became the only air I wished to breathe. In that suspended silence, a universe existed within the space of our intertwined hands, a promise whispered through a gentle squeeze. The world outside had melted away, leaving only this fragile, perfect bubble where time itself seemed to pool around our feet. And in that sweltering stillness, I knew I was truly, completely found.
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